I Said I'm Fine
by georges1982-96
Summary: Sheriff Stilinski has noticed the dark circles under his son's eyes, and the way he flinches from contact. He notices the Lahey boy has bruises again. He especially notices all the time they're spending with Derek Hale. And he's determined to find out what's going on. Meanwhile, another pack has wandered into Derek's territory and have taken a concerning interest in Stiles.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Teen Wolf fic, so bear with me. I don't know if it sucks or if it's okay, so let me know what you think! It will be multi-chaptered.**

**EP (you know who you are), don't judge me.**

**CHAPTER WARNINGS: language, slash, violence, abuse, mention of canon death of minor character**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters. I'm just borrowing!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Stiles leaned back in his chair, tilting the two front legs off the floor. He glanced up at the clock. 2:15. School was almost over, and Stiles was anxious to get home. His dad wasn't working late for once, and Stiles was determined to make dinner before he got home from work.

He tapped his pen on his desk, sucking on his bottom lip and propping himself up with his elbows on the desk in front of him. It was the anniversary of his mom's…of losing his mom. His did used to tell him that he could stay home instead of going to school, but had caught on after a few years that Stiles wasn't going to take him up on the offer. Stiles couldn't bear sitting in the house alone, not that day of all days. He knew Dad would be exhausted when he got home. He was used to Dad grabbing a bottle of whatever alcohol he could get his hands on and disappearing into his bedroom for the night. Stiles really didn't want to be left to sit in his room by himself all night, and he hoped that he could at least coax Dad into having dinner with him.

Stiles started when the bell rang, the shrill noise shaking him out of his thoughts. He gathered up his books and stuffed them into his backpack before standing up and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Hey, man, do you want to hang out tonight?" Scott asked, approaching Stile's desk and watching his best friend with concern. Scott knew the answer before Stiles could say anything; every year, Stiles spent the whole night trying to keep his dad from spending the night alone in his room and drinking. He had been mostly successful the past few years, but Scott worried about him. It wasn't fair that Stiles had to exhaust himself for his father's sake when the Sheriff should be the one going out of his way to help Stiles through a day like this.

Stiles shook his head and hiked his bag up on his shoulder. He smiled reassuringly at Scott, grateful for his efforts and attempts at offering help, even though Scott knew full well that Stiles would shoot him down. He started out of the room, expecting Scott to follow suit, and said over his shoulder, "Naw, that's okay. My dad'll be home."

"Alright," Scott shrugged. He fell into step next to Stiles and walked with him out towards the parking lot. "Can you drop me off at my place? Allison was thinking of dropping by later to study, and I kind of want to shower first."

Stiles raised his eyebrows and grinned a little, bumping Scott's shoulder with his own. "I thought you guys were just friends?"

"We are," Scott replied quickly, elbowing Stiles gently to get him to shut up. He didn't want to think about how much he still felt for Allison, not when Allison had made it perfectly clear they were no more than friends, and that's how she intended for them to stay. "Is it a crime to smell nice for your friends?"

Stiles snorted. "You never bother showering before you come and see me."

Scott rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. He could smell the anxiousness rolling off Stiles, thinly veiled by his weak attempts at humor. He was slightly concerned by it, but wrote it off as Stiles's concern for his father. "Shut up."

Stiles shrugged and pursed his lips into a thin smile. He let out a yelp of surprise when a strong hand on his arm suddenly yanked him back a few feet, halting his progress towards his jeep. He tried to yank his sleeve out of Scott's wingers, but Scott had an iron grip; damn werewolf strength. "Dude, what-?"

"Why is Derek here?" Scott hissed, peering beyond his Jeep to where Derek was leaning against the side of his black Camaro. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and struggled to keep his heartbeat steady. Scott could always tell when he was lying, even without his werewolf senses. Stiles dug his fingernails into his palm and silently cursed Derek for showing up when he was with Scott when he knew Stiles wasn't ready for Scott to know about them yet.

Stiles tugged his arm out of Scott's grip, successfully this time. He rubbed his forearm where Scott's fingers had dug in deeper than Scott realized, hard enough to leave bruises. Stiles tried to brush off Scott's concern, focusing on keeping his breathing and heartbeat steady and keep his best friend from becoming suspicious. "I don't know, probably to talk to one of us about something werewolf related. What is he usually out here for?"

"Usually?" Scott repeated, reluctantly following Stiles down the steps to the parking lot. He glanced up to look at Derek again, his stomach squirming. He still didn't like Derek, even though he'd reluctantly agreed to become part of the pack, more because of Stiles's begging than anything else. After months and months of Stiles pushing for Scott to join Derek's pack, Scott has finally snapped.

_"STILES, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Scott yelled, slamming his fist down on the center console of the jeep hard enough to leave a dent in the plastic. Stiles jumped and swerved into the other lane, stunned by Scott's outburst. _

_He quickly jerked the wheel so they were back on the right side of the road before he hit the truck coming in the other direction head on and let out a long sigh of relief. "Calm down, man."_

_"How can you expect me to calm down?" Scott snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping down in his seat. He glowered out the windshield, digging his fingers into his arms painfully. "You keep bugging me and nagging me to join Derek's pack, and I keep telling you no. I mean no. Just cut it out. Why are you so obsessed with me joining them anyway?"_

_Stiles shrugged and chewed on the inside of his cheek, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. "I…I've just been doing some research."_

_"About what?" Scott asked irritably. "Something Derek wants you to hunt down?"_

_ "No," Stiles replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose and scratching his chin. "I, uh…about Omegas. I, uh…Derek mentioned that one was killed recently. Some hinters caught him in a snare, hung him up, and they, uh…they cut him in half. And I just sometimes think, I mean, not that you can't protect yourself, but…"_

_ "I can protect myself," Scott agreed, his tone softening when he realized what Stiles was getting at. "Don't be stupid."_

_ "You don't get it," Stiles said sharply, his grip on the wheel tightening. He attempted to keep his voice steady, but his throat felt tight when he thought of Derek's description of the killing, when he thought of the way Derek's eyes had flickered to him and flashed with concern for just a second. "He thought he could, too. But it's a fact, man, that werewolves need a pack. They very rarely make it on their own, and I swear to God, Scott if those hunters find you and kill you and it could have been prevented by you dropping ng your holier than thou act about Derek's pack, I will bring you back from the dead and kill you again myself."_

_ Scott rolled his eyes slightly at Stiles's threat, but couldn't ignore the way Stiles's voice got slightly hoarse as he spoke. He bit his bottom lip and ducked his head, letting his hair fall around his face. "I…" he sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "I'll think about it."_

_ "That's all I ask," Stiles replied, keeping his steady gaze on the road, a light sheen on tears in his wide eyes. He blinked a few times, clearing his vision and wiping away the offending liquid quickly, but it was too late; Scott had seen a tear curve down his cheek and drip onto his shirt._

_ Two weeks late, he'd agreed to enter Derek's pack on a probationary basis; the look of pure relief on Stiles's face when he found out was worth it._

Scott knew that Stiles , for some unknown, unfathomable reason, also genuinely liked Derek and his pack, and he was willing to make some sacrifices for his best friend. God knows Stiles had sacrificed enough for him over the years. "Usually he's creeping around waiting to throw you against something and creatively threaten you."

Stiles cocked his head in agreement. He started towards Derek, calling over his shoulder flippantly, "I agree. Though I have to say, his threats are becoming less and less creative lately. He needs to step it up."

Scott reluctantly followed his best friend towards his Alpha, digging his hands into his pockets and curling them into fists. He could tell Stiles was trying to hide it from him, but he heard the slight jump in his heartbeat when he'd seen Derek. Scott chalked it up to Stiles thinking Derek was going to throw him against a wall or make him come out to the Hale house for some werewolf emergency instead of being able to spend the night with his dad.

"Where are the others?" Derek demanded immediately, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest. His dark eyes reflexively flickered over Stiles quickly before returning to the door of the school once he was content that Stiles was healthy and unharmed, if not a little tired.

Stiles shrugged and followed Derek's gaze to the front door. "I don't know. Leaving class, going home? Which is what we were doing, by the way, in case you didn't notice."

Derek looked back down at Stiles, studying him disarmingly closely for a moment before looking away again. Stiles rolled his eyes slightly; he did not feel like putting up with Derek's silent, stoic persona. Derek ignored Stiles, instead turning to meet Scott's gaze and say tersely, "We need to have a pack meeting, now. My house. Let everyone know."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles held up his hands in a 'hold on' gesture. Derek turned his attention back to Stiles, his emotionless gaze meeting Stiles's wide, dark brown eyes. He felt his heart ache a little and the hard edge in his expression softened before he could stop it. "I can't just go and meet you all out in the woods. I have plans."

"Well move them," Derek said dismissively, regaining his cold gaze and keeping his tone light and unconcerned.

Stiles blinked, surprised at Derek's reaction. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared up at Derek challengingly. "Why would I do that? Just because you tell me to?"

Derek opened his mouth to speak, realizing his mistake, but was unsure of how to retract the thoughtless remark. He reached fruitlessly for the words to explain himself. "I…That's not what I meant."

Scott's brow furrowed as he watched Derek stumble over his words, searching for the right ones. It was weird. If anyone else said something like that to him, he would growl threateningly and chew them out for talking back, maybe even throw in some broken bones for good measure. Stiles had always seemed to be able to get away with a little more than the rest of them. Maybe because he was human and being part of the pack was a choice; he could leave whenever he wanted to, and then they would have no one to research for them, no one to referee their arguments, and no one to go to when they needed someone for advice or comfort. He was necessary; he kept the pack together.

"I…" Derek rubbed a hand over his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He sighed and started again, able to form a coherent sentence this time. "It will just be a half an hour. I need the whole pack there. It's important."

Scott expected Stiles to sigh and come up with some ridiculous excuse for why he couldn't make it, but instead Stiles met Derek's gaze steadily and said firmly, "I'm making dinner for my dad tonight. That's important."

Derek regarded Stiles for a few moments, his expression blank and unreadable. Scott shifted uncomfortably, sensing the Alpha's intensity in evaluating Stiles's excuse. Finally, Derek nodded, conceding, and leaned back against his car. "Fine. I expect the rest of you. Got it, Scott?"

"Yeah," Scott agreed, biting back his irritation at having orders barked at him. He would have snapped back, but he knew he should never even try to get away with talking to Derek the way Stiles did. "I'll let them know."

Derek nodded shortly before looking back over at Stiles, who was watching him uncharacteristically quietly. "Stay inside tonight."

"Damn," Stiles rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. "And I was planning on taking a midnight stroll through the woods behind my house in the moonlight."

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles, and if Scott didn't know any better, he'd say Derek looked concerned. Derek's eyes flickered to Scott for a moment, and he said lowly, "Scott, I'll see you and the others in fifteen minutes."

Scott nodded and started back towards Stiles's Jeep, figuring Stiles would follow. When he didn't hear footsteps behind him, he turned around to see what his friend was doing. Stiles remained where he stood in front of Derek, looking up at him with a strangely unreadable expression. "Stiles?"

"I'll be there in a minute," Stiles called, tearing his eyes from Derek to look over at Scott for a second. "Go ahead, I'll meet you at the Jeep." He dug in his pocket and tossed his keys in Scott's general direction. Scott reached out to catch them reflexively, snatching them out of the air without taking his eyes of Stiles.

"Okay," Scott agreed, but it was obvious Stiles wasn't paying attention to him anymore. He had turned back to Derek, his hands on his hips and his eyebrows drawn together. Scott turned on his heel and walked slowly the rest of the way back to the Jeep, straining his sensitive ears to hear Stiles's voice.

"…problem, Derek?" Stiles was saying quietly, sounding mildly irritated. "You know what today is, I told you to avoid any crazy werewolf news today…"

"I can't help this," Derek replied lowly. Scott heard the rustle of fabric and squeak of leather and assumed Derek was crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "I know this isn't the ideal time, but this is urgent. There's another pack sniffing around here."

"Another pack?" Stiles repeated, sounding surprised. He hesitated a moment before asking, "Derek, like, another pack who wants to kill you, or another pack who wants to kumbaya around the campfire with us and braid each other's hair?"

"I don't know yet," Derek replied softly. Scott heard feet shuffling on the tar, kicking at the small pieces of gravel on the blacktop. "It's not me I'm worried about."

Stiles drew in a sharp breath and laughed softly. "What, you're worried about me? C'mon, what would they want with me? You're the Alpha. Anyway, you know my dad has, like, an arsenal in our basement."

"I've put you in a considerably more dangerous position," Derek replied. Scott paused outside the Jeep's passenger door, confused by Derek's words. What was that supposed to mean?

"You think I went into this blind?" Stiles asked softly. "Hello, Derek, my best friend's a werewolf, too. I knew what I was getting into. I weighed the pros and cons. I even made a list."

"Really?" Scott could have sworn it sounded like Derek was smiling, if it weren't for the fact that Derek Hale didn't smile, ever. He especially didn't smile when he was talking to Stiles. "Sounds like you." There was short lull in conversation before Derek added, "Just promise me you'll stay at home, inside, with your dad. Don't let him leave you alone, and don't leave, not even in your deathtrap of a car."

"She's not a deathtrap," Stiles argued, letting his voice wander into the territory of a whine. "You're just jealous my baby has more character than yours does."

"Stiles," Derek said stiffly, obviously not in the mood for the age-old argument of Stiles's Jeep. "Promise me."

"Okay, okay, I promise," Stiles replied, clicking his tongue distastefully. "Don't be so surly. It's not an endearing quality."

"Mmm-hmm," Derek hummed quietly, doubt evident in his tone. "Go home."

"I'll…I'll see you soon," Stiles said uncertainly. Scott heard him take a few steps away from Derek, towards where he was hunched next to the passenger's door of the Jeep.

"I'll call," when Derek spoke, his voice was so soft that Scott could barely hear him, even with his werewolf hearing. Derek paused for a moment, but added quietly. "Be careful."

"Promise," Stiles said, a grin in his voice despite the sincerity in his tone.

Scott heard Stiles start towards the Jeep again and jammed the key in the lock frantically. He jumped up into the passenger's seat and tossed the keys onto the driver's seat. He leaned back in the seat and stared up at the worn ceiling, tapping his fingers in his knees and trying to look disinterested and bored. Stiles yanked open the driver's side door and slid onto the seat, scooping up his keys before he sat on them.

Scott waited until Stiles had turned the Jeep on and pulled out of the parking lot to speak. He glanced over at Stiles for a moment before returning his gaze to the window, watching the trees and houses fly by as they headed towards Scott's house on the outskirts of town. He cleared his throat and said, as casually as he could possibly manage, "So, what did Derek want?"

"Huh?" Stiles glanced over at him quickly, pulled out of his thoughts by Scott's question. He'd been thinking about what Derek had said; the more he thought about it, the more it freaked him out. Derek hadn't been panicked, but he'd definitely been concerned. Derek didn't get concerned about just anything. As much as he'd tried to hide it, Derek had been a little shaken up, and Stiles was slightly unsettled.

"I said, what did Derek want?" Scott repeated, struggling to keep suspicion from creeping into his tone. "He seemed…intense."

Stiles shot him a weird look. "How would you normally describe Derek?"

Scott sighed frustratedly, blowing his bangs off his forehead. "I mean, more intense than usual."

"He'll talk about it when you all meet up," Stiles shrugged, reminding Scott he needed to text the others. "He thinks there's another pack sniffing around his territory. That tends to get him a little tetchy, you know?"

"A…a dangerous pack?" Scott asked hesitantly. He didn't want Stiles to suspect he'd eavesdropped, but his curiosity was piqued. Derek had seemed honestly concerned, not only for the other werewolves, but for Stiles. He hadn't been talking to Stiles like he normally did; he wasn't abrupt or harsh or impatient. Scott had never before heard Derek's voice so gentle when he talked to any of them, not even Isaac.

Stiles shrugged, keeping his dark eyes on the road. Scott could see the gears turning in his head. He sighed softly and settled back in his seat, chewing on his bottom lip. Stiles thought too much sometimes, and it never ended well; he just kept turning things over and over in his mind, thinking about all the possible scenarios, about all the things that could go wrong. He bottled it all up until it got to be too much for him. Scott tightened his jaw when he thought of the last time he'd seen Stiles suffer through a panic attack. When Stiles spoke, his voice was light and careful. "I don't know. Derek doesn't know. I think that's what you guys will be checking out tonight."

* * *

Stiles put down a plate of grilled chicken and steamed vegetables in front of his dad, glancing past the kitchen table to the window. It was getting dark earlier and earlier as winter loomed over the small town. Soon it would start snowing, and Derek would be living in his decrepit house in the freezing temperatures. Werewolf or not, Stiles was sure that wasn't comfortable at all. He bit his lip, resolving to resurrect the argument about Derek getting an apartment next time they saw each other.

"What are you thinking about?"

Dad's voice startled him slightly. He tore his eyes from the dark pines dancing in the wind behind their house and returned his attention to the pots and pans on the counter. He set about making up his own plate, speaking quickly, "Just about stuff. School. Friends. Homework. Friends doing homework at school, which I just don't get, because, I mean, it's called HOMEwork for a reason, right? Why do it at school? What do they do when they get home, if they don't have homework to occupy themselves with? They must have to spend time—"

"Stiles," Dad cut him off, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and pressing a hand to his temple. He looked up at Stiles across the table, cringing slightly when a spike of pain went through his skull. Stiles froze mid-sentence and stared at him, jaw lax and showing off a mouthful of chewed food. "Talk a little more quietly, please? I just…I have a headache."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles agreed readily, swallowing and leaning back in his chair. He nodded furiously and his eyes flickered around the kitchen. "I can do that. That I can handle. Talk a little more quietly. People tell me that all the time, that I have to talk less, or use an indoor voice, and I get it. Having someone talk all the time can be obnoxious, but sometimes I don't notice when I…" Stiles noticed Dad hunching his shoulders slightly and reaching for his temples again. "When I'm doing it again. Sorry."

"No, Stiles, don't apologize," Dad sighed, dropping his hands to the table and looking down at the plate in front of him. He tried to look Stiles in the eye, but couldn't bring himself to lift his gaze from the table. Stiles looked just like his mother; he'd gotten her eyes. Sometimes it physically hurt Stilinski to look at his son because he reminded him so much of his mother. "I'm just tired. It's my fault."

Stiles shook his head and dug his fingernails into his thighs through the denim of his jeans. He ducked his head and sucked on his bottom lip, trying to ignore the guilt clawing at his stomach. It definitely wasn't his dad's fault. None of this was his dad's fault. All of this was his own fault. He hadn't been able to save his mother, and now she was dead and his dad was raising a loud, hyperactive teenager alone. He cleared his throat, swallowing the words of self-depreciation that almost slipped through his lips, and instead said firmly, "Dad, quit it. It's not your fault. Just eat your vegetables."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Dad's lips and he picked up his fork again. He speared a stalk of broccoli and looked up at Stiles, suddenly hit by a feeling of overwhelming gratefulness for a son that was so responsible. He knew Stiles was under a lot of stress; between trying to deal with Scott having a new girlfriend, worrying about the Sheriff's insane work hours at his dangerous job, and getting all of his classwork done, he was running himself into the ground. Stilinski was tempted to tell the kid to take a few days off school to get some sleep and spend some time just thinking about himself instead of everyone else, but he knew Stiles would refuse; the routine of going to school gave him some kind of comfort. "So, how is Scott doing lately? He got a girlfriend, right?"

Stiles's expression lit up a little bit and he straightened up in his chair. He leaned forward over his plate and stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork before beginning to speak and gesturing wildly, waving the fork around in the air. "Apparently they're just friends now, which, you know, makes sense on her part, but Scott, on the other hand, thinks that he still—"

Stilinski watched his son fling his hands up in the air, talking a mile a minute and waving the fork around carelessly, his chocolate eyes bright and his posture more relaxed than it had been all week, and for the first time that day, he genuinely smiled.

* * *

Stiles rolled over in bed, squeezing his eyes shut against the moonlight filtering in through the shades over the window next to his bed. He tugged his blankets around himself more tightly to seal out the chilly air in the house. His dad steadfastly refused to turn the heat on until at least after Thanksgiving, so Stiles relied on the pile of blankets stored in his closet to keep him warm.

They weren't doing their job well at all.

He huddled under the blankets and curled up in an effort to conserve some heat. He could hear his dad moving around in the kitchen, the sound of the dishwasher running and bottles clinking together, and he was tempted to go back down stairs and sit down next his dad on the couch, to just curl up next to him like he used to when he was little.

He swallowed hard and pressed his nose into the pillow, and holy God, it was fucking zero degrees, why wasn't the heat on?

Stiles didn't move when he heard the window across the room being pushed open. He only turned over when he felt a hand come to rest on his side. He flipped over onto his back and looked up at Derek, holding the blanket close to his chest. Derek gazed down at him for a few moments, taking a moment to scent the emotions surrounding Stiles like one of the thick blankets wrapped around his lean frame. He sensed relief, anxiety, and an undercurrent of deep sadness.

Derek couldn't blame him. Most years on the anniversary of the night his family was killed, he didn't even bother getting out of bed. The fact that Stiles could go to school, put up a brave face for his friends, and take care of his dad was a testament to how strong Stiles was. Derek smiled a little bit at the thought; he never would have thought he would admit that a human was stronger than him.

"What are you staring at?" Stiles asked softly, throwing one arm across his forehead and peering up at Derek through the darkness.

The corner of Derek's lips quirked up slightly, and his teeth were so white Stiles could have sworn they practically glowed in the dark. "You."

"Yeah, I got that," Stiles raised his eyebrows and pushed himself up on his elbows. "Why?"

Derek shrugged slightly and sat down on the edge of the bed. He moved his hand to curl loosely around Stiles's hip. His thumb rubbed small, soothing circles through the blankets. "I…how are you doing?"

Stiles flopped back on the bed again and covered his eyes with his forearm, humming softly. "Okay."

"Okay?" Derek swung his legs up onto the bed and sprawled out next to Stiles, sliding his arm around the younger man's shoulders and tugging him closer. Stiles melted against Derek and nuzzled his nose into Derek's shoulder, pressing his face into Derek's shoulder. His fingers curled into the leather lapels of Derek's jacket. Derek could hear the sound of a bottle being opened downstairs and liquid being poured into a glass. He tightened his grip on Stiles, pressing his mouth into Stiles's hair. "I…if there's something I can do…"

Stiles laughed softly, his warm breath skittering across Derek's collarbone. His fingers curled more tightly into Derek's jacket. "You suck at trying to be comforting."

"I'm trying," Derek pointed out gruffly, slightly put out. He knew he wasn't exactly…easy to talk to. That's why he and Stiles worked so well; Stiles talked enough for both of them, and didn't mind that Derek wasn't as verbal. "I…I'm not good at…at…"

"I know," Stiles replied quietly. "You try, though. That's more than most people can say."

Stiles felt Derek's body tense. When he spoke his voice was even and controlled. "Is Scott ignoring you again?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and shook his head, shifting closer to the warm curve of Derek's body. He felt Derek's strong arms tighten around him and sighed softly, allowing the tension to ease from his shoulders; Derek made him feel safe, safer than he'd felt since he'd stumbled into this werewolf thing. "No, he's over that. He figured out he can't live without me. I didn't mean anything by that."

Derek reluctantly accepted Stiles's excuse, glancing down at him for a few moments to try to gauge his expression. Stiles brushed it off easily, as if it didn't matter, but Derek remembered how distant and helpless Stiles had looked when Scott had sort of ditched him when he first started dating Allison. "I've figured out you rarely say anything you don't mean."

Stiles scoffed bitterly, ducking his head and pressing his nose against Derek's collarbone. "Tell that to my dad."

Derek cocked an eyebrow in reluctant agreement. He turned on his side so he was facing Stiles, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around the younger man's waist. He ducked his head and tucked his nose against Stiles's neck, breathing in deeply. Stiles allowed him to, all too used to Derek's werewolf need to scent people; he wasn't quite used to it yet, but he couldn't object to any excuse for Derek to be close to him. "Don't blame yourself."

Stiles chewed on the inside of his lip and regarded Derek's serious expression closely for a few moments before breaking out into an honest smile. "You…you are such a softie."

Derek blinked at him, surprised. "What?"

"You act all tough," Stiles elaborated, propping himself up on his elbow so he could lie on his side and look at Derek. "But you really do…you care."

"If you're just realizing this now, we need to reevaluate our relationship," Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles smiled a little bit and reached out to run his thumb over the curve of Derek's eyebrow. He'd always been jealous that Derek could raise one eyebrow, and had made it his personal goal to learn how to do it himself. He hadn't been successful so far, but a few more hours of practicing in the mirror and he was positive he could make it happen.

Stiles tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Derek's. Derek hesitated, but kissed him back, sliding a hand around Stiles's neck. Derek drew back after a few moments, the corners of his lips curling upwards. "Your dad is downstairs."

"I'm just kissing you," Stiles whined softly, tugging at the front of Derek's shirt impatiently. "Both my hands are even above the bathing suit line."

Derek looked torn between being amused and exasperated. "Stiles, if I even thought about touching you before you were eighteen…"

"Yeah, my dad would probably shoot you," Stiles agreed, flopping onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. The shadows of the trees outside danced across the ceiling bathed in moonlight. "Why do you have to be so moral? I didn't decide to date a tough guy because I wanted respect, or him to protect my honor, I date a tough guy to get—"

"Don't finish that sentence," Derek's eyes flickered over to the door. He listened for the Sheriff's footsteps on the stairs, and was relieved when the sink turned on in the kitchen. "We've talked about this."

"Try, try again," Stiles let out a puff of breath and folded his hands over his stomach. He was wearing a t-shirt and a thick, wool sweater, but Derek could still feel him shivering slightly. He didn't miss the flash of contentment in Stiles's eyes when Derek had cut him off. As much as Stiles whined about Derek's morals, it was painfully obvious how much he did want someone who respected him, who protected him, and who was planning on sticking around. Derek understood the need he had for security. He'd never been interested in short term, convenient relationships after Kate had screwed him over.

"I should leave before your dad hears us," Derek said after a few moments, pushing himself up. He reached down and cupped Stiles's face with his calloused palm, gently running a finger over his cheek. "Call me if you need anything."

"I'll be fine," Stiles gave Derek a brittle, reassuring smile. He didn't want Derek to go (Derek was warm, Derek was comfortable, Derek was safe), but he cringed at the thought of his father walking in and finding him curled up in bed with Derek Hale. He doubted Dad would be understanding about the situation. "Hey, you checked out the other pack?"

Derek had pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, but froze when Stiles mentioned the other pack. Stiles could see the tension seep into his muscles and bind the muscles in his shoulders into tight knots. His voice was measured when he spoke. "I sent the others to sniff around. There's nothing overtly bad, but…I'm not sure yet. I arranged a meeting with their Alpha. Tomorrow."

"When?" Stiles asked.

"Seven o' clock," Derek replied slowly. "My place."

"I'll meet you there, then," Stiles yawned, stretching his arms out above his head.

Derek bit his bottom lip and nodded hesitantly. He wasn't a hundred percent sure about how this pack would react to a human showing up, but Stiles was his pack (his mate, his mind supplied), and there was no way he had a chance of convincing him to stay home if Stiles set his mind to go. That would lead to a fight, which would lead to the silent treatment, which would ultimately end in Derek apologizing, because damn it if he didn't miss Stiles's babbling just a little bit. "Alright."

Derek turned towards the window and took a few steps towards it before he was jerked back towards the bed by a tight grip on the hem of his jacket. He stumbled back a few steps, caught off guard, and turned back to Stiles, staring down at him incredulously. Stiles grabbed the front of Derek's jacket and pulled him down so he could seal their lips together once more. He felt Derek's warm hand cup the back of his neck as he gently reciprocated the kiss. Stiles had picked up pretty quickly that Derek was surprisingly gentle for someone who made a hobby of throwing people into walls. Stiles felt Derek smile a little against his mouth and his stomach fluttered pleasantly. "Derek, I…"

Derek nodded shortly, and slid his hand from Stiles's cheek to cup the back of his neck, resting his thumb on Stiles's pulse point. "I know. Me, too."

Stiles smiled up at him, his face breaking into a bright, unashamed grin. Derek found himself smiling back stupidly for a few moments before he realized what he was doing. He always kind of forgot that he was supposed to be stoic and tough when he was around Stiles; he could coax Derek out of his shell before Derek even realized what was going on. Stiles's skin was cold under his fingers, and Derek felt him shiver. Derek slipped off his jacket and spread it out over Stiles, tucking it around him in hopes that it would offer some extra warmth.

Stiles tried to push the jacket back into Derek's hands, protesting softly, "Don't, you'll freeze. Your house is half burned down, man…"

"I'm a werewolf," Derek resituated the jacket around Stiles's shoulders, smoothing the fabric down his sides and resting his hands on Stiles's hips. "I don't need it. Now, go to sleep."

"'Kay, babe," Stiles murmured, tugging the jacket more tightly around him and turning onto his side. "Night."

"Night," Derek replied softly, rubbing Stiles's back soothingly. After a few minutes, Stiles's eyes drifted closed and his breathing evened out. Derek carefully slid off the edge of the bed, moving slowly so he didn't wake Stiles up. Stiles shifted and whined slightly at the loss of heat and contact before settling on his stomach again. Derek pulled up the blankets around his shoulders and smoothed them out over Stiles's back. He pressed his lips to the top of Stiles's head before straightening up an heading for he window again.

He shivered when the cold night air hit the exposed skin of his arms. It was getting cold outside, and Derek never looked forward to the months when snow drifted in through the crumbling ceiling and the house was filled with icy drafts.

He shut the window behind him and cast one more look over his shoulder at his mate sleeping curled up in bed with a small smile tugging at his lips.

* * *

**I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought, I'd really appreciate it. Reviews make my day, so leave one of you have a second!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**First of all, thanks for all the feedback! I really appreciate the comments, they make my day, so thank you to all of you who commented.**

**CHAPTER WARNINGS: physical abuse, language, mild slash, and hints towards sexual abuse (parent/child)**

* * *

Scott immediately tensed when he jumped out of the Jeep and landed on the soggy carpet of leaves that covered the forest floor in front of Derek's house. He paused and sniffed deeply, noting the distinct scent of anxiousness and animosity in the air. He smelled people he didn't recognize. He growled lowly and slammed the Jeep door shut behind him, taking off towards the front door of the house without waiting for Stiles.

"I'll catch up, then!" Stiles called after him irritably, tossing his hands up in the air. He tramped after Scott towards Derek's house, hiking up his backpack on his shoulder. The sleeve of Derek's jacket flopped out of the front pocket and slapped against his side as he jogged towards the house. He'd stuffed it into his bag that morning and prayed like crazy that Scott wouldn't smell it on the ride over.

Scott burst into the house and made a beeline for the living room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. "Derek? Derek!"

He skidded to a halt in the door of the living room, slightly stunned at the scene before him. Most of the pack was settled onto the sofa; even Lydia had shown up for this. Derek was standing in front of the couch, positioning himself as a physical barrier between the knot of five people standing in front of the armchair and his own pack.

Scott immediately recognized the other five people in the room as the pack Derek had had them check out last night. The Alpha glanced over at Scott for moment, but shifted his gaze back to Derek quickly, effectively dismissing Scott as a threat. Scott snarled lowly, his upper lip curling slightly.

He was bumped completely into the room when Stiles turned the corner of the hallway and ran into him. He shot Stiles an annoyed look and strode across the room to Derek's side, keeping a wary eye on the other pack. He crossed his arms over his chest and addressed Derek calmly, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "What are they doing here?"

"I invited them here," Derek replied raising an eyebrow at Scott, daring him to challenge him. "I thought it would be a good idea to figure out what exactly they're doing here."

Derek's gaze flickered back to the other Alpha; he'd introduced himself as Mason before Scott had come bumbling in, demanding an explanation. Derek couldn't shake the sense that there was something familiar about this guy; he brushed it off, inwardly chiding himself to stop being so paranoid. The man smiled and nodded, understanding Derek's implication for him to speak. "…as I was saying, we're just passing through. We had every intention of asking permission, but we were all exhausted by the time we found a place to stay."

Derek made a short, noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. His gaze flickered over the other members of the pack where they crowded around Mason. They were younger than Mason was, probably closer to Derek's age whereas the Alpha looked like he was around the same age as Peter. "Where are you staying?"

"We found a barn that looks deserted out beyond the edge of the woods, away from town," Mason replied, shrugging, unconcerned. His gaze flickered over to the doorway where Stiles was still standing, watching the interaction with his jaw slightly slack. Mason's eyebrows drew together when he realized that the kid in the doorway was completely, unimpressively human. His upper lip curled slightly, his instinctive reaction to seeing a human around werewolves disgust; when he realized what he was doing, he quickly schooled his face back into an impassive expression, returning his attention to Derek.

Derek quirked an eyebrow at him, following his gaze to Stiles and immediately tensing when he saw who had caught the other Alpha's attention. Mason sensed the change in Derek's already hostile demeanor to a more intense form of protectiveness, one that Mason could only remember feeling around his parents.

He pursed his lips, filed that crucial piece of information away for later, and continued speaking. "And we were planning on camping out there for around a week, if that's okay with you."

Derek shifted his weight to his other foot and pursed his lips, obviously on the verge of telling them to get the hell away from his territory and his pack, but paused when he caught a glimpse of the disapproving expression Stiles was aiming at him. He replied through gritted teeth, "That's fine."

Mason stared at his expectantly, obviously anticipating Derek to say more. When Derek just glared at him silently, he nodded shortly and uncrossed his arms, smiling widely. "Thanks. We appreciate it. I guess we'll be seeing you guys around." Derek nodded stiffly, but still didn't speak. Mason pursed his lips into a thin grin. "Goodnight, then."

He led the way out of the living room, the rest of his pack following suit. When he passed the human in the doorway, he inhaled as deeply as he could without drawing attention to himself. He was unsurprised when he determined the human absolutely reeked of Derek; the Hales had always been a less traditional family. It wasn't shocking that Derek had chosen an untraditional mate.

"I'll meet the rest of you at the barn," Mason said when they'd stepped outside and closed the door behind them. He turned to take off in the direction of the town, determined to get this thing done as soon as possible.

"Where are you going?" Elijah called after him. Mason stopped in his tracks and turned to face his pack again, digging his hands into his pockets and raising his eyebrows impatiently. Elijah ducked his head and dropped his gaze when Mason focused his attention on him completely, regretting he'd spoken when he realized how on edge Mason was.

Mason scrutinized Elijah doe a moment before unexpectedly smiling a little bit and replying lightly, "I've just got some things to take care of before we…go hunting. I'll be back soon."

Juliet and Gabriel nodded in understanding. Leah rolled her eyes at him and reached into her back pocket for her phone, uninterested as usual. Mason ignored her and turned his gaze back to Elijah. "I expect you all at the barn when I get back."

He didn't wait for a response before he turned back towards the woods and took off towards where he remembered there was a rocky, unpaved road to the town cemetery.

* * *

Derek didn't move from his stance in the center of the living room until he heard the front door slam shut behind the other pack. He rubbed his face with his hands frustratedly and forced himself to say calmly, "Everyone head home. Just…just be careful until they move on. I don't…just be careful."

"I don't like them hanging around here," Scott ignored Derek's order, crossing his arms and stubbornly and refusing to budge from where he stood next to Derek, glaring up at the taller man. "Did you see the way he was looking at Stiles? Do you think he can handle himself around humans?"

"It's not you decision," Derek replied tersely, shooting Scott a frustrated glare. "And it's definitely not your place to question me. I told you all to get out of here."

"Whatever," Jackson muttered, rising to his feet and heading straight for the door, eager to get away from this freak show as soon as possible. Lydia allowed him to tug her out after him, looking bored and unconcerned. Jackson pushed by Stilinski, giving him a wide berth as he slipped through the doorway. He could smell Derek all over Stiles, and the thought of them together made Jackson want to puke.

Boyd rose to his feet and disappeared upstairs, characteristically not saying a word before he left. Erica pushed herself up and ran a hand through her hair, biting the inside of her lip and watching Derek closely. She let out a puff of air from her nose before turning on her heel and wandering into the kitchen, flipping her loose curls over her shoulder. Isaac tried to duck out into the front hallway, but was stopped short when he heard Derek growl lowly, "Where are you going?"

Isaac tried to hide his flinch with a shrug and turned back to face Derek. He kept his eyes firmly on the floor, unable to hold Derek's gaze. "I have t-to work."

"You worked last night," Derek replied, raising an eyebrow. He noted the slight stutter in Isaac's voice. He'd been hearing it more and more often lately, and it was a little disconcerting. Derek had thought he'd been cured of it when he'd accepted the bite. "We were supposed to train tonight."

Isaac shrugged again and ran a shaking hand through his thick honey colored curls, his eyes flickering nervously to the door. "I know. My dad just called me after school, he told me he needed me at the graveyard tonight. I didn't know."

"You worked last night," Derek snapped, anger evident in his expression and his voice. Isaac shrank back and crossed his arms over his chest protectively, rubbing his hands up and down his upper arms as if he was cold and trying to warm himself up. He felt the edge of the bandages around his arms curl under his fingers; he tightened his grip painfully, digging his fingers into the bruised skin in an effort to anchor himself. "How much does he expect you to do? You still have to sleep some time."

Isaac shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, tugging at the soft curls there. He hesitantly stepped towards the front hall, hovering in the doorway uncertainly. "I'm fine. I really have to go, though…"

Derek shook his head and turned away from Isaac, dismissing him with a vague wave in the direction of the front door. "I expect you here tomorrow to train."

Isaac sucked his head and nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

He darted towards the front door and almost made it before he felt a hand close around his wrist. He bit back a yelp of surprise and tore his hand from the grip, stumbling back a few steps and finding himself looking down at Stiles's confused and slightly shocked expression. He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to relax, trying to look less like a deer caught in headlights than he knew he already did. He mentally shook himself for being so jumpy in front of them. When he spoke, he was proud of how steady he kept his voice. "What?"

"I just…" Stiles watched him carefully, eyeing the arm he'd grabbed suspiciously. Isaac shifted his weight uncomfortably, hoping Stiles hadn't felt the bandages. The last thing he needed was to try to explain why he wasn't healing when he hadn't even figured it out himself yet. "Do you need a ride to school tomorrow?"

Isaac blinked at him, thrown by such a normal, mundane question. School seemed almost surreal lately, considering the rest of Isaac's life was werewolf-induced chaos. "I…no, that's okay. My dad's not working in the morning."

"Okay," Stiles shrugged and smiled warmly at Isaac, his grin tinged with concern. "See you in Chemistry, then, man."

"Yeah," Isaac forced a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "See you."

He slipped out the front door and shut it behind him almost silently; Stiles pursed his lips and wondered how young Isaac had been when he'd learned how to disappear so quickly and soundlessly.

Scott sighed with frustration and dropped his arms to his sides, clearly giving up his halfhearted argument with Derek. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just go, Stiles."

"I'll meet you outside," Stiles replied, looking up to meet Derek's gaze. He tried to convey with his eyes that they needed to talk, and was almost sixty-five percent positive that Derek understood. "I've gotta run to the bathroom."

Scott looked between Derek and Stiles suspiciously, unable to shake the feeling he was missing something. He almost felt like he was intruding, but he knew that was ridiculous, because Stiles might be a little bisexual, but he'd never have anything to do with Derek Hale; his father would literally shoot Derek without hesitation. Plus, Derek couldn't stand Stiles on a good day. It didn't make sense, and Scott seriously had to calm the fuck down and stop making up ridiculous scenarios in his head because of his acute paranoia.

He nodded and caught the keys Stiles tossed to him before heading out to the Jeep, loudly slamming the front door shut behind him.

Derek snarled when the noise echoed throughout the entire house and glared at the door angrily, as if he blamed it for every problem he'd ever had in his life. Stiles rolled his eyes. "He'll get over it, man. He's just all hormonal because, hello, you picked a bunch of teenagers to turn. Not as easy as you thought it'd be, huh?"

"What did you want to talk about?" Derek ignored his comments and moved right to the point, knowing that if he allowed Stiles to get off topic they could be there all night. "The other pack? I was nice about it, I let them stay."

"No, not them," Stiles waved them off easily. "Though I do appreciate you listening to my input. I actually wanted to talk to you about Isaac."

"Isaac?" Derek repeated oddly, his eyebrows drawing together.

"He's…he's acting weird," Stiles said slowly, trying to explain himself. Of course Derek didn't understand what a normal teenager was and what a teenager was like when something serious was actually wrong; he'd been one of those unlucky kids who never got the chance to really be a kid. He'd never been able to rebel against his parents, or ignore their rules, or talk back to them because he'd lost them before he was old enough to feel that itch of irritation every teenager feels whenever their parents try to tell them what to do or how to do it. Stiles rubbed his forehead and continued slowly, "He should be ignoring his job to hang out with his friends, he should be telling you to fuck off. He shouldn't be standing there submissively and going to work and flinching like my hand burned him when I touched his arm. That's not normal."

Derek shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. "We're not really normal."

Stiles had to give him that. That didn't mean that there wasn't something wrong. He persisted, "I think you should talk to him. See what's bothering him. He looks tired."

"He works a lot," Derek replied defensively, but he felt doubt niggling at the back of his mind. Isaac had been looking exhausted and downright sickly lately, and it threw Derek a little bit. He'd never experienced anything like it with any of his family members before, so he had no idea what was wrong with Isaac now. "Of course he's tired. His dad is teaching him about work ethic. I can't say that's wrong."

"I swear to God, Derek…" Stiles hissed irritably, running his hands through his short hair and glaring up at him. "Just talk to him, okay? He's always been that quiet, weird kid at school that everyone think is going to snap and shoot up the place, and I just figured he was shy, but now that I've spent time with the guy…he's not shy, man, he's fucking terrified of something. Figure out what."

Derek's gaze flickered to the window and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper on his tongue. "I think we already know what."

* * *

Isaac set the bucket of soapy water down next to one of the headstones towards the back of the cemetery and dropped to his knees next to it, running a hand through his hair to push the tangled curls out of his eyes. He tugged his thick sweater more tightly around his lithe frame, shivering and wishing he'd remembered to bring a thicker jacket. He dipped the worn out toothbrush into the bucket and leaned forward to gently scrub the surface of the marble stone. He worked on the dirt and discoloration around the letters carved into the stone first, bracing himself with a grip on the top of the stone so he could scrub hard at the stains.

He glanced up when he heard rustling in the woods. He pushed himself up a little bit and peered through the trees for the source of the noise. When he didn't hear anything again, he returned to scrubbing a spot of green mold off the 'M' in the stone. He only had to finish cleaning this last row of graves before he could leave. His body ached with fatigue. He bit his lip and hoped his dad would be asleep when he got home; he yearned to curl up under his thick quilt and just sleep without having to run interference with his father. He rubbed his hands together, trying to work some warmth back into his ice cold, pruned fingers.

He heard another branch snap twenty or thirty feet away. He immediately straightened up, straining his eyes to try to make out what was moving around in the forest. He took a few steps towards the edge of the woods, the toothbrush lying forgotten on the grass next to the headstone.

Nothing moved. Isaac forced his shoulders to relax and let out a deep breath, pressing a hand to his rapidly beating heart. He had nothing to worry about. He was a werewolf now, for God's sake; he could handle anything that came out of that forest.

He wasn't helpless anymore.

He turned back to the headstone and sank to his knees again, reaching for the toothbrush he'd discarded next to the bucket. He began to scrub at the stone again, cursing the hard plastic of the toothbrush that left his hands red and blistered.

He was halfway through cleaning a patch of dried tree sap from the top corner of the stone when he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and everything went black.

* * *

Scott tramped after his best friend in the woods, feeling a sickening sense of déjà vu; the last time he'd blindly followed Stiles into the woods, he'd ended up getting bitten by a werewolf. Somehow, he didn't feel the least bit guilty anymore for being wary of Stiles's impromptu strolls through the woods.

He ducked under the branch of a pine tree and walked more quickly to catch up with Stiles. "Where are we going?"

Stiles tripped over a fallen log and stumbled a few steps before continuing to jog through the piles of thick leaves carpeting the forest floor. He glanced over his shoulder at Scott and shrugged innocently, like he believed Scott would buy into his façade of ignorance. "I don't know. My dad was called in twenty minutes ago. He wouldn't tell me why."

"Why are you so concerned?" Scott asked, leaping easily over the log and falling back into step behind Stiles. "Where are we going?"

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed his mouth nervously. "I, uh…I just heard…it was something out at the Lahey's graveyard."

"Isaac was working last night?" Scott's stomach dropped and he immediately picked up the pace. Even before they were pack, Scott had felt irrationally protective when it came to Isaac. Maybe it had something to do with the sad, lost look in his eyes, or the quiet, hesitant lilt of his voice. After his initial period of overconfidence and jerk-ish behavior, he'd quickly fallen back into his quiet and uncertain self. He reminded Scott of one of the dogs at the clinic that had been kicked one too many times by its owner, and it triggered some kind of protective instinct in him that he couldn't seem to fight.

Stiles nodded and peered through the trees. He could see the clearing of the graveyard up ahead. The lights of police cruisers flickered in the dim light of the dawn, painting the bark of the trees blue and red. He replied softly, "Yeah."

"Is he okay?" Scott asked, trying to keep the panic from edging its way into his voice. "Did your dad say-?"

"I don't know," Stiles muttered softly, coming to a stop at the edge of the trees and ducking behind one of the trunks, peering out from behind it to observe the scene. Scott, on the other hand, remained standing in plain view of the police gathered in the graveyard, too focused on trying to find Isaac to remember that they were sort of intruding on a crime scene, which would not go over so well with Stiles's dad. Stiles reached out and grabbed Scott's sleeve to yank him down next to him. "Dude, they'll see you."

"Quiet," Scott hissed, straining his ears to try to make out what the Sheriff was saying from where he stood talking to a irritable looking Mr. Lahey and a tired looking Isaac across the graveyard.

* * *

"So you didn't see anything?" John Stilinski asked again, crossing his arms over his chest and examining the Lahey boy closely. He shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at the Sheriff, his thick, golden curls falling into his light blue eyes. John recalled that the kid's mother had disappeared without an explanation when he was very young, abandoning him, his father, and his older brother. Isaac looked just like her, down to the pale skin and lithe frame. However, his demeanor was a stark contrast to the one of his confident, self-assured mother.

Isaac shrugged and looked away, gazing distantly at the freshly dug up grave they were gathered around. He gingerly reached up to brush his fingers over his swollen black eye and tug at a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. He shook his head and replied hoarsely, "No. I was cleaning that stone over there and felt something hit the back of my head…they knocked me out."

The Sheriff nodded, eyeing Isaac's bruised face suspiciously. He could make out bruises on the kid's wrists and his chin was streaked with dried blood. John couldn't tell where it had come from; there were no open wounds on his face. He pursed his lips and glanced over at Lester Lahey for a moment before returning his attention to Isaac. "Did they do that to your face?"

Isaac nodded stiffly, looking up to meet the Sheriff's gaze. His eyes were sincere and honest, and had John not seen Isaac's brother lie with the same disconcerting amount of conviction, he would have believed him. He raised an eyebrow and closed his notepad, slipping it into his pocket for a moment. "So you must have seen them, if they hit you in the eye like that."

"I didn't," Isaac replied firmly, shaking his head. "It happened too quickly, I didn't realize what had happened until it was too late."

"You don't remember anything?" John pressed, hoping the kid would just break down and finally admit that his dad had done that to him. Not likely, he reflected tiredly, watching Isaac search for some excuse, for some way to explain away his injuries. "Not if it was a male or female, or how tall they were, or…"

"Listen, Officer," Lahey interrupted, reaching out to grip his son's arm. Isaac bit back a wince when his fingers dug deeply into his already bruised skin. He couldn't feel his eye healing, which he was partially grateful for (the last thing he needed to explain was how his eye had magically healed itself in front of the Sheriff), but also slightly concerned about. He hadn't been healing as quickly as usual, sometimes waiting for hours for a bruise to fade back to the creamy pale color of his skin. He was tempted to bring it up with Derek, but every time he tried, his words caught in his throat; he didn't want Derek asking why he had so many bruises in the first place. Lahey tugged Isaac closer to his side, holding him possessively as he spoke steadily, leaving little room for debate. "He said he didn't see anything, and I believe the kid. He gets so caught up in whatever's going on in his head he doesn't notice what's going on around him. He can be pretty damn useless sometimes."

Isaac didn't seem to react at all to the insult, instead focusing intensely on the frozen grass crunching under his boots. John considered Lahey for a moment, anger boiling in his chest when he saw the man's fingers gripping Isaac's arm tightly so they dug into the bruises that already painted his pale skin sickly shades of green, purple, and brown. John cleared his throat and returned his attention to the freshly dug up grave. "It's kind of strange to have another robbery here so soon after the last one, isn't it?"

Lahey shrugged and nodded, conceding to the Sheriff's point. "I guess so. I haven't seen too much of that around here. Sometimes some of the trinkets on the graves go missing, but we can hardly help that."

"What's missing from this one?" John asked, peering over the edge of the grave, but unable to make out anything but some shadows in the bottom.

John had expected Lahey to answer, and was surprised when Isaac spoke up quietly, his voice hesitant and hoarse. "It was her…her hand."

"Her whole hand?" John repeated, staring at Isaac, stunned.

Isaac shrugged and nodded, dropping his gaze back to the ground. "It was cut off at the wrist. I don't…yeah. Her whole hand."

"Are we almost done here?" Lester asked irritably, cutting off the Sheriff's reply. His gaze flickered between Isaac and the Sheriff suspiciously, his shoulders tense and his mouth set in a thin, hard line. "He's got to get home and change before he goes to school."

John hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, I think that's it for now. I'll call if we have any more questions for you."

"You do that, Sheriff," Lahey tried to grin warmly; it came off more as a mild facial twitch. "Let's go, Isaac."

Isaac ducked his head an allowed his father to place a guiding hand on the center of his back to lead him to their truck parked on the dirt path that ran up the center of the graveyard. Isaac stumbled slightly and Lahey used his grip on his shirt to yank him back to his feet, easily forcing the slim boy to keep moving.

John watched them go, wishing he could get that kid away from his bastard of a father, but knowing with crushing certainty that Isaac would never, ever come and talk to him about it; Lester had the kid wrapped around his finger, always had. The thought of a kid like Isaac being hurt like that sometimes made John sincerely hate the system he worked in.

* * *

"Get inside," Dad growled, shoving his son into the front hall of the house by his grip on the back of Isaac's worn sweatshirt. Isaac stumbled over the threshold and managed to regain his balance before he went stumbling into the opposite wall. He whirled around to face his dad, his arms automatically moving to cover his face from any further damage at his father's hands.

Dad's upper lip curled in disgust and he slammed the front door behind him. "I'm not going to hit you, Isaac."

Isaac eyed him warily, obviously not believing him; not that his father had ever given him any reason to believe anything he says.

Dad chuckled softly and held up his hands in mock defeat. "Alright, alright, you have a point. But I'm serious this time. The last thing I need is for that idiot rent-a-cop poking his nose around here, and it seems like he's taken some interest in you."

Dad strode across the front hall towards the kitchen door, pausing next to Isaac on his way by. His hand stole across Isaac's waist and curled possessively around his hip, gripping hard enough to leave dark bruises. He could feel Isaac's sharp hipbones dig into his palm, and he smiled a little bit; the kid was too damn skinny, just like his mother had been before he and his brother had been born. When he spoke, his mouth was pressed close to Isaac's ear, his hot breath ghosting down Isaac's neck and making the slim boy shudder. "In fact, I think he's taken too much of an interest in you. Be careful around him, alright? I don't like the way he looks at you."

Isaac glanced up sharply at his father, confused. "What d-d-do you me-mean?"

Dad raised his eyebrows innocently and dropped his hand from Isaac's hip, allowing his fingers to ghost across his son's stomach. Isaac shifted uncomfortably, but didn't try to move away from Dad's uncharacteristically gentle touch. He preferred having Dad beat him to having his dad's hands anywhere near where they had been wandering lately. "I don't mean anything. I'm just saying. He might have some less than honorable intentions."

Isaac blinked at his father, shocked, and took a step back, putting distance between himself and his dad's calloused hands. He shook his head wordlessly and swallowed hard, trying to speak, but finding the words got stuck in his throat.

Dad sneered at him and shoved him roughly towards his bedroom. "Go get dressed. You're too stupid to miss school. Get a move on."

* * *

Juliet pulled a face when Mason dropped the disembodied hand on the makeshift table in the middle of the dilapidated barn. "Do you have to put that right there?"

Mason shot her a harsh glare and turned to dig through the duffel bag on the floor for the book he needed. "Don't complain. If a hand freaks you out, I'm not sure you can handle what we'll have to do to the human and the pup."

Juliet set her mouth in a thin line and crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "I can handle it. If it will get Alex back, it'll be worth it."

Elijah snorted from where he was sprawled out in the corner of the barn, his face obscured by shadows.

Juliet's lip twitched and her gaze dropped to the roughhewn wood planks of the floor. Her hands clenched together tightly in her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood.

"Leave her alone," Gabriel snapped, immediately coming to his sister's defense. He bit his lip and his eyes flickered towards the windows of the barn nervously. He couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy in another pack's territory, and that wariness was amplified by the fact it was Derek Hale's pack. He'd heard from Mason exactly what the Hales had proven themselves capable of, especially Derek's bitch of a sister. He turned to Mason and asked hesitantly, trying not to let his uncertainty show in the tone of his voice. "How long will we be here? I don't like this, Mason."

"We'll be here as long as it takes," Mason snapped, setting the thick tome on the table and flipping it open to the page he'd bookmarked with a tattered napkin. The wind whistled through the gaps in the rotting walls of the barn, sending an icy draft through the large building. The freezing tendrils wrapped around Mason's bare arms and seeped through his thin, battered clothing, forcing a shiver to run through his sturdy frame. He cleared his throat and glanced down at the bottom half of the page. He scanned the list one more time, reassuring himself that they almost had everything the needed to do this; they were so close to getting her back he could practically taste it. "We're almost ready, alright? Tomorrow we'll grab Derek's mate and the other kid, and then we wait for the moon. That's it, and then we're done. Then we have Alex back and we can leave."

Gabriel ducked his head and let his straw blonde hair fall in front of his eyes so Mason couldn't see the panic flashing through them when he thought of what Mason was going to make them do. He swallowed hard and nodded shortly, rising to his feet. "I…I'm going to get some sleep."

"What is it, Gabe?" Mason asked, noting the change in Gabriel's demeanor. Gabriel's shoulders tensed at the nickname; he hated to be called that, Juliet was the only one he allowed to get away with calling him that. He was too afraid of Mason right now to call him on it. Ever since he'd started this crusade to get Alex back, he'd been cold, harsh, and irrational. "Cold feet?"

Gabriel shook his head and turned away from Mason, determinedly making his way to the other side of the barn where he'd set down his blankets. "No. I just…I'm just tired."

Mason watched him sink to the ground and curl up on the floor, tugging his tattered blankets around himself in an effort to protect himself from the drafts blowing through the cracks in the walls. He noticed Juliet watching him with concern in her dark brown eyes. She stood up and turned to move towards Gabriel, but paused when she felt Mason's eyes on her. She nodded uncertainly to him and muttered, "Goodnight", before turning and striding across the room to kneel at her brother's side. Gabriel felt her hand on his shoulder and shifted to lie on his side, allowing her to plop down next to him and tug half the blankets over herself.

Mason's jaw automatically tightened at the sight. He tried to force back the memories of his sister, but seeing them together reminded him too strongly of how close he and his sister used to be.

He slammed the book shut, gritting his teeth together so hard he heard them squeak as they grinded against each other. He tilted his head up to peer out one of the windows high up the wooden walls. The moon was partially obscured by clouds and mist, but Mason could see by the dim silvery glow of the outline that it was only nights away from being full.

* * *

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